


Gigadrowse

by Mertiya



Series: Story Circle [29]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: M/M, Napcuddles, Post-Canon, Tired Boys Need Nap, it's only shippy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 04:48:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: After having a horrible time dealing with some kind of megolamaniacal idiot's world takeover scheme, Davriel just wants noodles.  And a nap.





	Gigadrowse

**Author's Note:**

> yeah okay I don't know here we are I'm back with my usual brand of what the heck is this ship
> 
> it's napcuddles that's what it is
> 
> also partly a prompt fill for the mtg Month of the Ship

            It was a shame about the wall. Davriel’s eyes weren’t focusing particularly well at this point, but even he could see the massive crack running diagonally from the bottom left corner to the top right. It had been such a nicely painted wall, too. A really artistic beige. The perfect thing to stare at while eating the best noodles in the Tenth District.

            At least the noodles were intact and neither the proprietor nor her family appeared to have been damaged by the nearly-plane-ending apocalypse that had been averted by the skin of everyone’s teeth. “Here you are,” Ezsti said, choosing that moment to bring over two steaming plates of noodles with a flourish. “On the house.” She set one in front of Davriel and one in front of his immense companion. “Sorry, but be careful in case there’s any little shards of metal or wood in there. We think we got them all, but we’re not really customer-ready again yet.”

            “Bless you,” Davriel said fervently as he smelled the delicious odor of paprika mixed with eggs and cheese. Admittedly a little more exciting than he typically preferred his dinner to be, but after the day he’d had, it barely even registered.

            “Looks good,” rumbled the minotaur beside him.           

            Davriel had met Angrath during one particularly hectic and unpleasant moment of being chased by zombies while out of useful powers. They had immediately bonded over their mutual desire to be anywhere other than Ravnica, and also over the fact that Davriel felt that anything as musclebound and angry as Angrath was a wonderful ally and a significantly less wonderful enemy.

            Of course, even though the cause of justice and righteousness (led by a shining beacon of hope, Jura only made Davriel want to cringe a _little_ bit, really) had eventually prevailed, by the time you’d spent a full several days fighting off hordes of zombies— _zombies_ , why why why _why_ —you did end up a little too tired to safely trek back across the Blind Eternities and home, so they’d come here instead.

            For a few minutes, the two of them ate together in silence—Davriel carefully, since he didn’t particularly want to wind up the day with a broken tooth, Angrath rather less so, but then he could probably have chewed his way through concrete anyway. What a lovable brute. He almost made Davriel miss Crunchgnar.           

            His arm looked so comfortable, Davriel thought vaguely, as hunger stopped gnawing at his belly, leaving only exhaustion and drooping eyelids. Sooo comfortable. Davriel was more overdue for a nap than he’d been since the extremely unpleasant incident with the geists and the dead angel and no tea. Possibly moreso. And Angrath’s am was large and warm and _there_ and—

            The next thing he knew he was blinking sleepily upward at a vaguely amused bovine face. There was a large hand nearly covering his entire head, which was pillowed in Angrath’s lap. “Whoops,” said Davriel, starting to get up.

            “Tired?” Angrath asked in amusement. “Me, too.”

            “I am suffering from an egregious nap shortage,” Davriel agreed. Angrath’s lap was comfortable, too, his hand in Davriel’s hair surprisingly warm and pleasant. “I wonder if we could prevail upon our charming hosts for some pillows?”

            Ezsti must have overheard him because she came back over. “Not while we’re still cleaning you can’t, but my cousin runs an inn across the way, and I’ll tell her not to charge you if you need a place to stay for a bit to get your strength back.”

            “That would be delightful of you, thank you.” Angrath rumbled a thanks as well and helped him sit up.

            They were halfway through picking their way across the rubblestrewn cobblestones of the street when Gideon Jura appeared, looking about as exhausted as Davriel felt but significantly more cheerful. “Are you two busy?” he asked without preamble.

            “Yes,” Davriel said immediately.

            “Because if not, we could use some help—oh?”

            “We are going to be _resting_ ,” Davriel said severely. “Which, given your general appearance, would probably be a wise move on your part as well. You can’t rebuild a plane if you keep dropping your hammer because you can’t keep your eyes open.”

            That set Jura back a bit. “Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said, after a moment. Angrath chuckled as they moved onward, patting Davriel’s back with a heavy hand.

            “I was not expecting to be this calm after all that. Maybe I’ve mellowed,” he said, as they headed up the steps and were directed by Ezsti’s cousin to a small room with a large bed that was covered in _almost_ enough pillows. It would do. Davriel sighed with pleasure as he sank down onto it.

            “I’m a good influence,” he said tiredly, as Angrath copied him.

            Another chuckle. “I like you, little man.”

            Davriel patted him, yawning. “You make an excellent pillow, my friend.”

            His head twinged, and he frowned. Tired as he was, there was no substitute for the dustwillow tea he could drink on Innistrad; he would just have to make do until he could get back. He shifted against Angrath, and the minotaur pulled him close, petting his hair absentmindedly in a rough but pleasant sort of way. Not much of a one for talking, maybe, but Davriel didn’t mind. The touch soothed away the worst of the headache, and he murmured something like a thanks.

            A little later, he drifted away to the sound of Angrath’s rumbling snores and the warm press of their bodies together.


End file.
